


Antemortem

by Alana_P



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Fear, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, Mild Gore, Other, References to Depression, Self-Hatred, Self-Mutilation, Spiritual, Suicide, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 04:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alana_P/pseuds/Alana_P
Summary: Murderface in a dark, abandoned place, alone.





	Antemortem

**Author's Note:**

> Graphic language. No happy ending to be found.  
> Mentions of Skwisgaar and Charles, but they do not intervene in the story.  
> Sorry for the awkward wording that you may find, still practicing my English. And I don't know how to write, but I wanted to give it a try anyway. If my tagging is wrong, please tell me!

"How miserable I must look, uh?" says the shadow in the darkness, ending with a sigh.  
"Laugh all you want, wherever you are right now." The silhouette gets up on both its feet, though with difficulty.  
"You know I can't reach you, so fucking unfair." It lets out a short sneer.  
"If you are here, that is."  
"I don't even know what I'm saying anymore, and I don't care", it talks after a breathy pause.  
"You know what? Screw you. Screw you, man. Screw you to _hell_ \-- which is a bit ironic, here."  
"Aww come on, a bit of humor won't kill you, don't be a tight ass, Your _Lordship_ or whatever these people call you."  
Cigarette smoke fills the room with white, a sheer contrast with the global blackness that surrounds the shape standing near a dark corner. Heavy air passes through the broken shards of glass that have not yet fallen from the windows. A faint, red light briefly lightens the lethal stick, and then the darkness returns just as quickly.  
"I knew this sponsorship would pay off!" said it, in a sudden jolt of life.  
  
(Then follows a "Smoking makes you look cool, I look cool, you all suck. That's all I have to say to you fucking morons.", all said in a cloud of fresh smoke. )  
  
"Not smoking makes you gay. And I'm not gay! 'cause I smoke, you see. Charles' hella gay. Always looking so neat and neutral, but I'm sure all he thinks about all day long is sucking cock. Big, fat, the chockes-you-to-death kind of cock, like that fucking gay doctor."  
It takes another drag, lets two trails of smoke out by its nose.  
"I have a big cock, man. Boo you fucking sluts who wouldn't even suck me off! You don't even realize what you missed by choosing that fucking Swede over me. Would have seen stars, thank you very much!"  
A weighty, yet cool breeze tickles the shape’s features, which makes it sneeze, thick mucus starts dripping from its flattened nose.  
“Stop mocking me, you ignorant god-thing. I did nothing wrong, stop judging me! I can feel you looking at me with your eyes full of disdain, damn it.”

  
The silhouette clears its throat in an ear-wrenching noise and looks down, its shadowed eyes facing the wooden floor. Moments after, it has gotten all black from a mix of spilled blood and dirty saliva.  
It suddenly drops to one knee, powerless. It tries to get back on its feet, but an invisible weight seems to keep it close to the ground.  
“It’s like my feet are stuck to the floor… that’s one of your devilish tricks, right? You think I fear you?!”  
“Keep pissing me off, and I’ll make you regret it, regardless of what you are.”  
The thick curtain hovering over the window on its far left flew up, letting the moon light up the upper part of the silhouette, revealing a scarred face, with aggressive lime eyes.  
Despite what he said, the man is afraid, terrified; his whole body reflects fear and submission, and he cannot move his body except his bleeding arms – not that freely anyway. Not that he isn’t trying.  
“You sick fuck, let me out! Let me out of here!”  
Tears begin spilling from tired eyes, underlined with grayish shadows; he has been here for what feels like centuries. He puts his arms on his head, his elbows almost pushing his head into the soiled wood. The tears don’t stop falling, and now, unskilfully muffled moans of despair ring throughout the room, the moon towering above his beaten body on the other side of the wall, raining a mocking pale light upon his side.  
“What a joke… my whole life… I always…”  
He looks up, in front of him, and his eyes get round, the man seemingly reaching some sort of conclusion.  
“You’ve got to be kidding me… if the others knew they’d throw me to the yard wolves to watch them rip me to shreds.” He laughs an empty laugh, his face of murder showing a lethal sneer. He manages to take whatever sharp tool he can find in his surroundings, then proceeds to tear up his ugly face with it, his screams echoing between the old walls of the structure. A cloud passes before the luminous star as if nothing had just happened.  
  
A mass falls heavily on the floor, its eyes open and crying still, both hands clutching the killing tool as if it was all that it had left; it doesn’t look human anymore.  
  
And then it is all silent again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this piece of crap. You are awesome. All the best.


End file.
